


while they do dream things true

by acchikocchi



Category: Koko wa Greenwood | Here is Greenwood
Genre: M/M, What-If, manga-based, the ship is really more implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 11:50:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19973596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acchikocchi/pseuds/acchikocchi
Summary: Shinobu dreams. (Set during volume 10, "Nightmare".)





	while they do dream things true

_Perhaps it went like this:_

Sunlight's pouring into the dining room from the kitchen. His mother bustles through the doorway, emerging from a golden haze, as Shinobu pulls out a chair at the breakfast table. "Where's nii-san?" And to his father, "Good morning."

His father gives an absentminded grunt from behind his newspaper. Amazing how his plate manages to empty itself without a sign of hand or mouth; there's a science experiment to be found there. 

"Remember, the culture festival is next week." His mother sets the breakfast dishes in front of him. Fresh rice, miso soup, grilled mackerel, all steaming hot: his father's favorite. "He took the first train this morning to help out in the darkroom before class." She clucks to herself. "That poor boy, if he keeps overworking himself like this…"

"Ah." His brother, a dutiful son, comes home every weekend. Of course the Rokujos' eldest daughter has nothing to do with it. "Has Noriko-chan been invited?"

"Don't pester your brother," his mother says, with the cadence of habit, but her eyes gleam. As she returns to the kitchen she smacks his father gently on the shoulder. "Dear! Take your nose out of that newspaper while you're eating. You need to set a good example for your children."

His father grumbles but he folds the paper in thirds and places it on the table – carefully to the left of the plate, face up, at just the right angle for someone with chopsticks in his right hand to continue reading.

His father catches Shinobu watching him. Very deliberately, he drops one eyelid in a slow wink. 

His mother's voice floats through the doorway. "Shinobu, is your father still reading at the table?"

"He put the paper down," Shinobu answers. His father's eyes twinkle.

There's a shriek from the second floor. Shinobu is prepared to testify that the whole house shakes, discernible on a seismic scale, as Nagisa clatters downstairs. "I'm going to be late! Why didn't anyone wake me up? Mother!"

"I called you twice, dear." His mother reappears in the doorway with a neatly wrapped bento box in hand as Nagisa slides into place across the table. Shinobu glances up and then carefully back at his plate.

His father stands up and accepts his lunch. "I'm off, then."

"Let me get your coat, dear." His mother follows his father to the entryway, clucking over some invisible speck on his shirt. Nagisa's shoveling rice into her mouth like a heavy duty excavator. Some ojousama. Bowl half-empty, she jumps to her feet. "Me too! Later!"

Shinobu pours himself a fresh cup of tea. There's a mirror in the front hall. 

An ear-splitting shriek bounces off the walls. Nagisa reappears, puffed up with outrage. Crumbs dot the corner of her mouth; the collar of her sailor uniform is wrinkled. A stubborn tuft of hair is sticking straight up from the back of her head. "You were going to let me go to school like this!"

Shinobu sips his tea. "I don't see anything unusual."

Before he can dodge – one would think he'd had enough practice – Nagisa has him in a headlock, scrubbing his hair mercilessly. Shinobu may have grown six centimeters in the last four months, but Nagisa is a senior in high school. Finally he manages to jerk free. He can't hide the irritation in his voice, even though he knows that's what she wants. " _Nee-san._ "

She cackles from where her arms are still looped around his shoulders as he tries, futilely, to pat his hair back down. "Now we match, Shinobu-kun."

His mother reappears. "Nagisa, leave your brother alone."

She squeezes Shinobu tight around the neck – tight enough to strangle. 

"This is just how I show my love," she says.  
  


_Or like this:_

"—room 2011. Tezuka?" 

Shinobu opens the door.

"Here's you new roommate. Tezuka, this is—"

The doors shuts behind Kusuno, the dorm head. He's come to deliver Shinobu's roommate, who's one of the last to arrive.

That's not right. But why wouldn't it be? 

"He's come all the way down from Aomori. I have to sort out Kame's missing luggage, so show him around the floor, will you? Good, see you at dinner."

Kusuno lets himself out. The door bangs closed. Silence.

The new arrival is short, with overlong bangs flopping over his glasses. He looks nervous. Pathetic, but typical.

Shinobu pulls out his kindest constructed smile. "Tezuka Shinobu. Nice to meet you—" 

He stops, disconcerted. He's never forgotten a name. It's one of the first things he remembers training himself to do.

It doesn't seem to matter; the false smile must have put the roommate at ease. He's smiling hesitantly in return. "We must be assigned by exam number, I guess? We were in the same row."

He can't say he remembers; no one else in the room had seemed worthy of particular attention except the one, the temple boy. A shame, that.

"I beg your pardon." Shinobu smiles again. "I'm afraid I didn't recall your face."

His roommate laughs. It sounds nervous; perhaps that smile needs work. "No, well, I was behind you. 167. So you wouldn't have noticed, probably."

"Ah, of course. Well." Shinobu offers his hand. "Let's do our best to get along for the next three years, shall we?"

His roommate's hand is warm and clammy. It won't do to wipe his own palm. His roommate makes up for it, though, by nodding the direction of the bunk beds and saying, "I don't mind the top bunk, if you'd rather have the bottom."

He'd been prepared to pretend he didn't mind either way, or to manipulate a coin toss if necessary. This is a fortunate turn of generosity. "Thank you," he says, careful to indicate warmth rather than relief. "I would." And now to offer something in return. "We can switch at the new term, if you like."

His roommate ventures another tentative smile. "My brother and I shared a room, I'm used to it. But, um, thank you. It's nice of you to offer."

From there, it's as simple as a question here, an answer there, speculating over classes, suggesting they sit together in the dining hall. Before they day's up he's eating out of Shinobu's hand. And with that accomplished, dorm life is easy enough to manage. He's never shared a room before; he'd been concerned, when he bothered to think of it, that after a lifetime of measured space he would feel crowded, imposed upon. He needn't have worried. Even when his roommate is there, he feels perfectly alone.  
  


_But most likely, like this:_

Rain drums on the roof. The third floor of a three-floor walk-up, and the building so old it could give their dear departed dormitory a run for its scant money. The sound is relentless, if one is bothered by that sort of thing. Shinobu isn't.

"Catch."

Shinobu looks up from his book in time to receive the tangerine neatly with one hand. Mitsuru flops back on the floor cushion so that the upper half of his body protrudes from the kotatsu. That sweatshirt is going to fall apart if he subjects it to the washing machine one more time.

At this observation, Mitsuru says, "If you're that worried, you can do my laundry."

"Do I look like your maid?"

Mitsuru grins slyly up at him. "I mean…" He waggles his eyebrows and then yelps as Shinobu's heel collides with his shin.

Shinobu peels the tangerine neatly, careful not to get his hands sticky lest it transfer to the pages of his book. It's the perfect ripeness, tart and juicy. He does like tangerines.

"Hey." Mitsuru is pushed up on his elbows. He opens his mouth, expectant.

Shinobu obediently tosses one segment of fruit across the table. Mitsuru catches it in his mouth, like a seal. Shinobu politely applauds and returns to his book.

Two paragraphs before Mitsuru lets out a heavy sigh. "When's it going to let up? It's rained every day this week."

"Mm," Shinobu says, eyes on the page. He's lost his spot. 

"We could go somewhere."

And move from the kotatsu? Not likely. He lets the silence speak for itself. 

"Shinobu," Mitsuru whines, drawing out the last syllable. "Come on."

It doesn't mean _Agree with me_ so much as _Entertain me._ Shinobu marks his page and closes his book. Years of experience have taught him there will be no ignoring Mitsuru in this mood.

Mitsuru, meanwhile, has heaved himself upright, the better to reach for another tangerine. He sighs again, mournfully. "We're almost out. Where's Fujikake when you need him, huh."

A significant pause. They catch each other's eyes and smirk.

"Room 117 aside. I wonder what our adorable kouhai are doing right now."

"Their homework."

Mitsuru sniggers. "Poor little jukensei."

"How quickly we forget."

Mitsuru grins. "Damn straight." He stretches his arms over his head, the picture of carefree college leisure. "The days of the grade grind are over forever."

"Some of us go to class. Some of us do our assignments."

"And some of us," Mitsuru cuts in, "are making the most of our youth before we become boring old salarymen dying of overwork."

Mitsuru, boring. Equally unlikely. "Speaking of," Mitsuru goes on, splitting the peeled tangerine equally between himself and Shinobu. "There's a mixer next week. Want to come with?"

Mixers are certainly amusing in their own way. Particularly once Mitsuru is thrown in the mix: the girls jockeying for his attention, the boys seething with poorly concealed resentment. However, Shinobu last indulged less than two weeks ago, and it won't be worth his time for at least another two.

"I'll restrain myself," he says. Mitsuru makes a face. "You know the male students are using you as bait."

Mitsuru shrugs. "Sure. 'S fun, though. And it keeps backfiring on them, which is funny." It is, at that. "Besides, when guys invite me they always offer to cover my drinks. Gotta save money, since _someone_ insisted on a spendy apartment."

Someday, Shinobu will show Mitsuru the true meaning of expensive. In the meantime, he suggests, "You could charge for the privilege." 

"Why, Shinobu. Are you volunteering to be my pimp?"

"Please, Mitsuru. Your manager."

When Mitsuru laughs, there's no room for anything else in his face: no shadows, no edges, no restraint. Pure happiness.

Sprawled on the floor, Mitsuru nudges Shinobu's foot with his own. It's a wonder Mitsuru needs the kotatsu at all. He's always so warm, like a human furnace. "Sure you don't want to go out?"

Shinobu says, "I'm perfectly happy where I am."

\--

_"Did you have a good dream?"_

_"…Nothing special. I've forgotten it."_

**Author's Note:**

> In the chapter entitled "Nightmare", a stray creature causes the residents of Greenwood to dream based on "the desires and memories buried deepest within their hearts." Some are good dreams, some are nightmares. (Fred dreams of his family in Singapore, Mitsuru dreams that he and Shou are actually twins, Tochizawa dreams that Shun is a girl and, it's implied, that they're dating. XD) At the very end of the story, Mitsuru asks Shinobu if his dream was a good one. Shinobu opens his mouth to reply… and then says "…Nothing special. I've forgotten it."
> 
> The first scenario in this fic is inspired by pixiv artist HN's [comic](https://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?mode=medium&illust_id=50387490) (scroll down to page 10).
> 
> after fifteen-plus years as a fan of this series i finally wrote fic. want to talk about suka-chan's future as a supportive stay-at-home dad/the greenwood musical that is on stage right now as we speak/how nasu yukie literally compared shinobu to a princess in a tower and mitsuru to the prince who saved him? drop me a line here or at hit me up on twitter at @matchedpoint.


End file.
